THERE
was never any doubt but that
William Thomson, second son of James Thomson of Belfast, was a most
remarkable child. Born in the busy Irish seaport on the 26th June, 1824, so
soon as he was breeched the little boy began to show most precocious talents
and intelligence.

In 1831 the Thomson family moved
to Glasgow, following the
appointment of James Thomson to the chair of mathematics in the university
there. The future Lord Kelvin’s father was a most remarkable individual.
Brought up as a farm labourer, he studied astronomy and mathematics
without either a teacher or proper text-books. By sheer hard work and
ability he won his way to Glasgow University, where he graduated as Master
of Arts in 1812, and was then
appointed teacher of mathematics at the Royal Belfast Academical
Institution. In 1815 he became professor of mathematics in the college
department, a post he held till his removal to Glasgow.

The Thomsons had originally come from
Scotland, migrating to Ulster about the year 1640, during the disturbed
times that preceded the Civil War. They lived in the district round Belfast,
mainly occupied in farming. The family fortunes fluctuated widely from time
to time, but all the Thomsons.
according to local tradition, bore the character of being "religious, moral,
patriotic, honest, large, athletic, handsome men."

The new professor of mathematics
at Glasgow had lost his wife two
years before his going there, and he had to set up housekeeping, a widower
with five young children varying in
age from twelve to three years old. Although they were motherless, the
bairns managed to be happy and contented enough with their devoted father,
who, in addition to his other work, kept the education of his sons in his
own hands.

At the age of eight, we find little
William Thomson informally attending his father’s university lectures, and
also those of some of the other professors. What the other students thought
of this shrimp of a boy being their class - mate is not
recorded. At all events, William and his
brother James profited by the lectures, for in October, 1834, they both
matriculated in the University of Glasgow, James being twelve years old and
William ten years and three months. The
usual age for matriculation, we may
note, is usually fifteen to eighteen.

The two brothers now proceeded to at
tend the university classes, which were composed of raw Highland lads sent
from the farm to train for the ministry, law, or medicine. At the age of eleven William
attended lectures in natural history and Greek, and carried off prizes in
both subjects. Next year he and James were first and second prizemen in the
junior mathematical class, from whence they wont on to annex all the honours in the senior class.

In fact there was really "no holding" these two wonderful
boys. Logic, natural philosophy (what we should now call physics),
astronomy, humanity—William gained prizes in each subject, beating competitors of twice his own age.

In 1841 William Thomson, having
exhausted the resources of Glasgow University, removed to Cambridge, much to
the delight of would-be prize-winners at Glasgow, who now saw some chance of
success for themselves. On the 6th April he formally entered Saint Peter’s
College—commonly known as Peterhouse—as a student of the university. Within
a week of his arrival it was currently reported in Cambridge that this
slender, fair-haired Scottish youth would certainly one day be senior
wrangler. His life was that of an ordinary studious undergraduate. He threw
himself into all things with a tremendous energy and intensity. Yet his
studies did not altogether absorb all his attention, for the future
scientist took a healthy and normal interest in boating, swimming, and
running.

He rowed in his college boat, becoming
for the time being completely absorbed in the river rather than in
mathematics, and later he won the Colquhoun Silver Sculls, a trophy competed
for by the whole university, and counted no small honour.

Smith’s Prize Winner

In his studies Thomson was no less
successful than on the river. In addition to other awards he won the
Gisborne Scholarship and Smith’s Prize, the latter an award for the greatest
mathematical power shown in the final examinations. Ultimately he obtained
the place of second wrangler in the mathematical tripos of 1845. One of the
examiners remarked to his colleagues about Thomson, "You and I are just
about fit to mend his pens."

How did it come about, then,
considering his immense abilities and reputation, that Thomson had to be
content with second place? One story has it that the examiners set questions
relating to theorems taken from Thomson’s own published original work, and
that while his successful rival, Parkinson, reproduced them from memory,
poor Thomson struggled in vain to reconstruct his own brilliant arguments.
Thomson was naturally somewhat disappointed at being beaten for first place,
especially since all his friends and tutors had confidently assured him that
such an event could not possibly happen. However, his defeat was soon
forgotten among more startling successes.

Leaving Cambridge, Thomson stayed in
Paris some months. He arrived in the French capital early in 1845 and
settled down with a friend in comfortable lodgings. He attended lectures at
the Sorbonne and the College de France, and made friends with the foremost
mathematicians and scientists of Paris. Although he was so young, Thomson
attracted all the savants by his excessive brilliance of intellect and his
unassuming manner. In the intervals of going to lectures and reading he
haunted the opera, for he was passionately fond of music. He wrote home long
and excited accounts of these operas—the first he had ever seen. He also
spent some time in laboratory work with the two eminent scientists J.
B. Dumas and Regnault, eventually returning to Cambridge again in the month
of May.

In June, 1845, Thomson was all agog
with the British Association meeting at Cambridge, at which he met Faraday
and many other famous men of science. Scarcely was this function over than
he was elected a Foundation Fellow of Peterhouse, which post he held till he
vacated it on his marriage in 1852. In the following October the young
Fellow took up his duties and was, in addition, appointed college lecturer
in mathematics.

But Thomson was not long destined to:
remain teaching at Cambridge. In 1846 the chair of natural philosophy at
Glasgow fell vacant, and through his father he applied for consideration as
a candidate. Of course, twenty-two was an absurd age for a professor, but
all Glasgow University had followed "young Thomson’s" career with
affectionate interest. They knew what promise he showed. In spite of several
other strong candidates appearing in the field, Thomson was elected to the
professorship. As one aged friend of his father’s said, "he is already
blessed with a reputation which veterans in science might envy, but his
friends look for still greater lustre."

Famous Inaugural Lecture

On the 1st November, 1846, Thomson
read his inaugural lecture on the scope and methods of physical science. On
the first day of every subsequent session the natural philosophy class was
opened by the reading of this self-same lecture, which did duty for half a
century. The attractive, alert young professor soon made friends with his
pupils, most of whom were of his own age. He had an enthusiasm for
experiment, and a passion for submitting all things to calculation. Much,
however, of his abstruse and involved teaching was far above the students’
heads. "I listened to the lectures on the pendulum for a month," said one
pupil, "and all I know about the pendulum yet is that it wags."

Thomson soon revolutionized and
reorganized the University laboratories at Glasgow, and opened a new and
living era of science teaching there. His teaching work, however, did not
diminish the young professor’s power of original thought. He worked hard at
the mathematical expression and interpretation of physical phenomena— a work
which laid the foundations of the quantum theory and physics as they exist
to-day. Though almost all his early published results need high mathematical
training for their understanding, we should remember that they form the
solid foundations for the work and discoveries of many subsequent
investigators.

Death of His Father

When he first went to Glasgow, Thomson
lived with his father at "No. 2, the College," one of the dingy but spacious
official university residences. During the winter of 1848-49 cholera visited
the city and carried off Professor James Thomson as one of its victims.
Thomson now took over his father’s home as his own, a widowed aunt, Mrs.
Gall, keeping house for him. This arrangement continued until 1852, when
Thomson became engaged to, and married, Margaret Crum, whom he had known
from his boyhood. She was a beautiful, charming, and witty young woman. They
made a most devoted and supremely happy couple; in fact, theirs was an
example of an ideal marriage.

Settling down to work again after his
marriage, Thomson found himself pressed for laboratory space. He annexed a
disused wine-cellar and a small examination room adjoining it without
official sanction, filled them with any apparatus he could buy, beg, or
borrow, and, with his students, set to work experimenting. At the outset,
work and results were fitful and erratic, but matters gradually improved,
and for twenty years these two dark rooms were the home of all Thomson’s
researches. They were, also, the first working laboratory of physical
science in a British university.

Hitherto Thomson’s work had been
connected with pure and abstract science, but he turned during 1854 to
consider the possibilities of a submarine cable across the Atlantic.
Characteristically he first elaborated a plan of calculations on the theory
of the subject, and embodied them in a paper "On the Theory of the Electric
Telegraph," which he communicated to the Royal Society. This was followed by
a work of vast erudition entitled "On Practical Methods of Rapid Signalling
by Electric Telegraph." Having now, so to speak, cleared the air surrounding
the theory of the subject, Thomson joined forces with the newly-formed
Atlantic Telegraph Company. This company, in defiance of his advice, ordered
supplies of a far too light cable, which was, further, manufactured
carelessly and cheaply. In August, 1857, the work of laying the cable
commenced, Thomson being on board H.M.S. Agamemnon, one of the two
ships engaged.

This first attempt ended in failure.
After 330 nautical miles had been laid, the cable broke in water 2,000
fathoms deep. Accordingly, the attempt was abandoned till the following
year. In the July and August of 1858 success crowned the undertaking, and
the cable stretched from Ireland to Newfoundland. Thomson was at work day
and night testing, observing, and controlling the electrical side of the
project. Frequent small mishaps caused him agonies of apprehension, while,
since he had officially quite a minor position, he was exposed to many
annoyances and interferences.

Thomson’s Enthusiasm

For a time the cable proved a great
success, "the theme of innumerable sermons and a prodigious quantity of
doggerel," as Thomson said, though he himself was overjoyed at the success
of the expedition. He watched the landing of the Irish end, an eye-witness
tells us, "in a state of enjoyment so intense as almost to absorb the whole
soul and create absence of mind. His countenance beamed with placid
satisfaction." Alas! the cable soon proved highly unsatisfactory. First
Whitehouse, the company’s engineer, who insisted that he knew better than
Thomson, substituted his own clumsy instruments for those which the
professor had expressly designed at Glasgow. He was dismissed, and Thomson
put in entire charge.

He introduced his own instruments, and
for the time being all went well. Then, however, Thomson’s first criticism,
that the cable was too light, proved true. By September, 1858, it was almost
impossible to transmit intelligible signals to Newfoundland. On the
twenty-third day after the cable had been landed the final message was
transmitted---the last of the 732 messages conveyed.

Success Follows Failure

Happily, this failure was only a
prelude to success. Following long and exhaustive experiments, a new cable
was made, far stronger and better than the first and under the auspices of a
new company the Great Eastern was chartered to lay it. This huge
unwieldy ship, built before her time, carried the entire cable. The
expedition sailed from Greenwich in July, 1865, Thomson being on board as
consulting expert. On the 23rd July the Great Eastern left Valencia,
in Ireland, for Newfoundland, paying out the cable as she went. After 250
miles had been laid the cable parted on the ocean bed, and the expedition
had to return to Valencia.

The venture was now abandoned until
the summer of 1866. In the meantime, Thomson was busy designing and
preparing instruments to raise the broken cable. He dashed backwards and
forwards between London and Glasgow. Often his secretary would arrive
breathless at Glasgow station, a few minutes before the mail-train left for
London, with an urgent message for the stationmaster "The London mail-train
must on no account start to-night until I come." Such was the national
importance of his work, and such the honour in which Glasgow held their
professor, that the station-master never failed to obey.

A Double Triumph

On the 13th July, 1866, the Great
Eastern once more sailed westwards from Valeneia with Thomson on board.
In laying the new cable which the ship carried not a single hitch occurred
and the end was landed at Heart’s Content Bay, Newfoundland, fourteen days
later. Success at last! "the newspapers of the United States and Great
Britain exclaimed, and broke into a paean of praise for Thomson and his
fellow officials and experts. On the 9th August the Great Eastern
quitted Newfoundland to attempt the recovery of the cable lost the previous
year, splice the broken ends, and complete it. For a fortnight Thomson
superintended the crew, who fished in water two miles deep for the lost end.

Finally, at noon on the 2nd September,
the end was brought on board, to his vast satisfaction. Within six days the
old cable was completed to Newfoundland, and thus two perfect cables lay
side by side on the ocean bed. Following public banquets at Liverpool and
London, the "heroes of the cable" were received in private audience by the
Queen at Windsor. As a reward for all his "laborious humility" and patience,
Thomson was knighted. For the motto of his coat-of-arms he
characteristically chose, "Honesty is the best policy."

His Great Grief

All the while he had been connected
with the cable Thomson had contrived to discharge his duties as professor in
an entirely satisfactory way. Released from the anxieties and labours of the
great undertaking, he now turned his whole attention once more to his
abstract studies and his students at Glasgow. He was soon busily involved in
atomic physics, delighting all his friends by the fresh eagerness with which
he resumed his interrupted researches. Lady Thomson’s health, however, gave
him considerable anxiety.

She grew slowly but surely weaker in
spite of all that medical science could do, and died on the 17th June, 1870.
The professor was overwhelmed with grief, his work was completely
disorganized, and for a long time the shadow of this sorrow lay across every
hour of his existence.

A little later Thomson entered upon
geological researches. From mathematical equations he deduced the age of the
earth, arriving at a figure which greatly disconcerted many of his brother
scientists, for to them he had made the earth appear too young. He engaged
in a controversy on this vexed question with Huxley, who on occasion could
be anything but mild and forbearing. Yet so high an opinion did he form of
Thomson’s character and attainments that, in 1871, when it fell to his lot
to refer to his controversial antagonist in a speech, he said of him: "As
the old poet says of Lancelot— ‘Gentler knight, there never broke a lance.’"
This, from such a determined enemy of compliments as Huxley, was praise
indeed.

In 1874 Thomson married for a second
time, his bride being Miss Frances Blandy, daughter of Charles R. Blandy of
Madeira. Thomson met her when on a holiday, and the couple were married at
the British consular chapel at Funchal. His telegraphic inventions now began
to bring in substantially large sums, by aid of which he set to housekeeping on a larger scale in virtue of his
marriage. A small estate at Largs, near Glasgow, was purchased and a
considerable mansion built upon it, in the planning of which the professor
gave full rein to all his whims and fancies. He also bought a sailing yacht,
the Lalla Rookh, a vessel of 102 tons, in which he cruised during the
summer months around the coast of Europe, and became a most skilful and
accomplished sailor.

Improving the Compass

About 1871 Sir William became
interested in the possible improvement of the mariner’s compass. He found
that ordinary compasses suffered from many and grave defects, which he
promptly set out to rectify. He designed a new compass of his own, which was
immune from all outside magnetic disturbances, and also steadier and more
sensitive than those in use. Since this invention was patented in 1874, it
has been universally adopted. Many times on foggy and stormy nights have
sailors had cause to bless the name of Thomson, who, turning his profound
and erudite mind to practical affairs, had given them a compass to be relied
upon implicitly. His services to navigation do not rest here, moreover, for
he also invented a deep-sea sounding machine and a tide analyser and
predicting machine, he improved the manufacture of lighthouse lights, sat on
an Admiralty committee to consider the scientific design of ships,
investigated the action of waves on a floating ship, and drew up extremely
valuable tables for finding the position of a ship at sea.

Electrical Experiments

During the ‘eighties most of Thomson’s
attention was given to electricity. He invented and improved innumerable
electrical measuring and recording instruments, as usual busying himself
with the practical application of recently discovered phenomena. Sir Joseph
(then Mr.) Swan invented his "glow lamp," the parent of the modern electric
bulb, in 1880, and by the following year Thomson was already interested in a
company for their manufacture. For the time being, as Lady Thomson wrote to
Darwin, "Sir William does nothing but talk electric light and dynamos."
Soon, however, these words were transformed to deeds, and Thomson’s house
was lighted by electricity, generated by a dynamo driven by one of the first
gas engines.

All through these years of manifold
activity, Sir William had never ceased to discharge his duties as professor.
To his students he was a kindly and fatherly mentor, taking a deep interest
in their work and progress. Any who showed especial promise were instantly
selected to work under his own supervision as assistants, and after a few
years of incomparable training were launched into the world to make careers
for themselves. Many scientists and engineers who afterwards became
distinguished owed their positions and progress in the first place to the
practical kindliness of their Glasgow professor.

Lecturing to the Minority

As a lecturer Thomson generally
remained high in the air above his students’ heads. A few would follow his
first evolutions on the blackboard, but even these were soon "faint yet
pursuing." He invariably began his morning lecture with the old Scottish
custom of reading prayers, the students standing the while. Nothing annoyed
him more than a lack of chalk. One day he had none. He called the man who
looked after his lecture theatre and said, "Let there be a hundred pieces of
chalk to-morrow!" Next day he counted the long row with great care, to make
sure that the hundred pieces were there. Since his students constantly
borrowed his books of reference and forgot to return them, when they were
recovered they were all chained to his desk in order to prevent further
depredations.

In later life Thomson became a trifle
lame, but this disability emphasized rather than detracted from his
activity. He limped up and down in front of his vast blackboard explaining,
discussing, and calculating as eagerly as if he himself had been a youthful
student expounding his own first discovery. When any experiment or
demonstration went well he smiled sweetly, and his eyes danced with delight
behind his eyeglasses. Should an experiment fail he would shake his head
sadly, and apologize profusely to the students, explaining that it was all
his own fault, and that no one could possibly blame his assistants.

Unable to Do a Sum

In common with many another profound
mathematician, Thomson was totally unable to do the simplest arithmetical
calculations. He would frequently ask a student the answer to the most
rudimentary sum. On one famous occasion he wrote 7 x 8 = on his blackboard,
and then paced up and down before it obviously perplexed. The students
waited in breathless expectation. At length Thomson suddenly stopped, darted
up to the board, and triumphantly added the figures 54.The
applause and laughter continued unabated for some ten minutes.

Three times Cambridge tried to tempt
Thomson from Glasgow by the offer of the Cavendish professorship. Each time
he declined: "I am afraid it cannot be—alas, alas—the wrench would be too
great. I began taking root here in 1831, and have been becoming more and
more fixedly moored here ever since." Glasgow, in fact, held all his
affections, and death alone was to prove strong enough to sever the bond.

Britain’s Best Known Scientist

During his long and brilliant career
Thomson gradually became the best known and most famous British man of
science. On New Year’s Day, 1892, therefore, everyone heard with
satisfaction that a peerage had been conferred on Sir William Thomson, who
thus became Lord Kelvin, taking his title from the river Kelvin, which flows
past the University buildings at Glasgow.

Very many other distinctions poured in
upon the veteran scientist. He received twenty-five degrees from
universities, the Order of Merit, a privy councillorship, thirteen honours
and orders from foreign governments and great cities; while no fewer than
eighty-eight learned societies delighted to add his name to their list of
Fellows or Members—a total which has surely never been surpassed by any
other man of science.

In June, 1896, the jubilee of Lord
Kelvin’s professorship was celebrated at Glasgow University. A tremendous
ovation was accorded him, speeches were made in his praise, bells were rung,
banquets held, in fact everything was done to make the occasion a memorable
one. Deputations attended from the world over, and Queen Victoria sent a
special message by the Lord Provost. The recipient of all these honours
remained calm, modest, collected, and a trifle embarrassed. He made several
excellent speeches, and though the celebrations tired him out thoroughly,
Lord Kelvin was unfeignedly and genuinely delighted and gratified by them
all.

Retirement from Active Service

Shortly after this jubilee he reached
his seventy-fifth birthday, and on the11th July, 1899, he "presented
a petition" to retire from active service—the word "petition is
characteristic of his whole unassuming nature. Accordingly he resigned in
the following October, having held his professorship continuously since
1846.

"It was to him an undisguised pain to
sever the tie that bound him to the university," wrote one of his colleagues
at the time of his retirement. But though the last lecture had been given,
the last visit paid to the laboratories, the connexion was not entirely
severed, for Lord Kelvin remained on the roll of the university as a
research student.

In this new role he proceeded to enjoy
him-self immensely. Freed from official cares and trammels, he was like a
schoolboy on a holiday. He busied himself over whimsical experiments which
he had hitherto never felt justified in trying.

Now, since no duties or
responsibilities lay upon him, he could follow his own inclinations. Kelvin,
in fact, suddenly renewed his youth, and in his retirement began working
with all the ardent enthusiasm of a clever first-year student.

Association with the Curies

He continued to take the liveliest
interest in all that was going forward in the scientific world. For example,
he, first among the leading scientists of Great Britain, perceived the
immense possibilities opened up by the Curies’ discovery of radium. When
Pierre Curie and his wife first came to lecture in London, Lord Kelvin, then
over eighty, welcomed them officially, and listened enthralled to the
account of their discoveries.

He saw that the results of their work
demanded an orientation of views as to the ultimate constitution of
all matter. At once, and unhesitatingly, he scrapped ideas which had served
him all his life, and substituted notions which did not conflict with the
Curies’ astounding discoveries—a truly remarkable proof of intellectual
modesty and freedom in so old and so famous a philosopher.

Kelvin’s last years, however, were
mainly spent rather in consolidating the results of his immense labours than
in fresh work. Nevertheless he worked hard, and almost as vigorously as a
man in his twenties. During the autumn of 1907 he fell ill, after catching a
chill, and died on the 17th November, at Netherhall, his home in Scotland.

Burial in Westminster Abbey

He was buried in Westminster Abbey,
next to the grave of Sir Isaac Newton. The funeral was attended by
representatives of universities, societies, and institutions from all
countries. A simple slab inscribed, "William Thomson, Lord Kelvin,
1824—1907," marks his resting-place. As his biographer, Sir Silvanus P.
Thompson, has remarked, "such a strenuous career as his, and such high
ideals of intellectual endeavour as illuminated his whole life, are
possessions not lightly to be lost."

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